


come on and haunt me

by chasingjupiter



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Modern Fantasy, Mutual Pining, Pining, Spirits, essentially jihoon possesses wonwoo but it's not creepy like that, kind of ambiguous ending but not like ~open~, technically wonwoo's not part of this ig
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:09:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24878983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingjupiter/pseuds/chasingjupiter
Summary: When Wonwoo neglects his own health and needs a serious intervention, Jihoon, a spirit, takes it as his duty to help him out. The only way he can do that, though, is by essentially possessing him. The plan is to jump in, tidy up his life, and jump out by the end of the week.Spoiler alert: the plan doesn't really work out.
Relationships: Kwon Soonyoung | Hoshi/Lee Jihoon | Woozi
Comments: 9
Kudos: 51





	come on and haunt me

**Author's Note:**

> title from apocalypse by cigarettes after sex <3

Waiting for a body can get boring really quickly.

The waitlist, Jihoon’s heard, goes on and on endlessly. It’s true that the rate of body acquisition is increasing, but it still crawls like a crippled snail. Jihoon’s probably at the very end of that rolling infinity. He has little hope of making it to a body, at this point.

So to occupy himself, he watches the humans. Sometimes, when he gets too restless, he’ll do a little swap, to put it nicely. He’d discovered his ability to possess humans through a day of festered longing and had suddenly found himself staring at real skin clothing his typically invisible form. Ever since, he’s toyed with a few humans every now and then, usually only when he’s desperate for a body.

On other days, he scouts out humans are doing a particularly bad job of taking care of their body. One should be grateful for their physical presence on Earth, he thinks, but often the humans forget this. Or maybe not forget- more like let it get swept away under a current of stress. This is where he comes in.

Jihoon swaps with the spirit residing in the body, essentially kicks out the spirit. When they get to this state, they tend to be kind of weak, so it’s fairly easy to evict them. Once secure in the body, he has a week to whip the human back into shape before he’s forcibly popped out and the rightful resident sucked back in. He’s usually pretty good with leaving on time, though, so he doesn’t have to experience the both uncomfortable and humiliating experience of being vacuumed out of a body.

He’s got his eye on a human, has been watching absently for a few days now. The guy’s one hell of a walking disaster right now, to put it bluntly. Jihoon’s apprehensive of the sheer amount of cleaning he’s going to have to do for him, but still yet a prickle of excitement reminds him he’s going to be corporeal again. There’s nothing like having all five senses to use at will.

The thought of having feet on ground and hands on, well, everything sends a little shiver up his figurative spine. He’s floating aimlessly in his target’s apartment, suspended by the kitchen window. The human’s poor houseplants are hunching over with exhaustion. Jihoon makes a mental note to water them.

His human, Wonwoo, he thinks, putters out of his bedroom. It’s two in the afternoon. This is why Jihoon is here, after all.

Wonwoo trudges to the tiny kitchen and pauses before opening the fridge in a stupor. Jihoon already knows there’s little inside apart from a moldy piece of toast and two stalks of celery. Wonwoo makes a face and shuts the fridge door.

Jihoon watches as Wonwoo seems to lose himself briefly. He stands in the junction between the kitchen and so-called living room and simply stares blankly at the wall. Thoughts are probably churning slowly through his brain, making a list of to-dos, but Jihoon knows it’ll overwhelm him and he’ll retreat back to his bedroom in a few minutes’ time. How does he know? It’s not spirit magic, unfortunately. It’s just the same thing Wonwoo has been doing for the past two days.

As Wonwoo shuffles back to his bedroom as expected, Jihoon realizes he’ll probably have to make the swap tonight at the latest. It’s unlikely Wonwoo will be able to hold out for much longer without any actual damage to his body or mental state. No, it must be in the next few days if the poor man’s to survive.

Upon reaching his conclusion, the doorbell rings. The strident chime shakes Wonwoo out of his zombie-like haze and he turns to open the door. It reveals another man beaming brightly, holding out a plastic bag laden with what smells like Chinese take-out.

The aroma clears a little of the fog in Wonwoo’s eyes. He opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again.

“Food?”

The visitor looks alarmed, rightfully so, at Wonwoo’s barely functioning state. He lets himself in, closes the door, and walks Wonwoo to the sofa, depositing the take-out on the coffee table. The table is already completely covered with papers and trash of various sorts.

“Wonwoo, are you okay? You look… well, not great.”

“I know I look like shit,” Wonwoo replies hoarsely. “Food?”

“Yeah, yeah, here’s your food,” the man complies, handing over the bag and allowing Wonwoo to fish out a Styrofoam box and disposable chopsticks. “What’s going on?”

Wonwoo sighs heavily. “Nothing bad, really,” he answers. When his friend levels a dubious stare at him, he lowers his head. “Okay, I'm a little stressed. But it’s fine, honest. Work is getting kind of rough, but everyone deals with that.”

“Wonu,” he says sweetly, reaching over to grasp his shoulders and shake them lightly. “You're being dumb. Your health is important! Don't trivialize these things.”

Wonwoo looks both guilty and confused. Jihoon feels a surge of gratitude for this stranger, who is beginning to make his job a little easier. Now, if only he could get a name…

“Don't worry too much about me, Soonyoung.” 

Jihoon, surprised, laughs to himself. This must be a sign, he thinks. That he’s got to help Wonwoo out. And maybe get to know Soonyoung along the way, if he's going to be checking up on Wonwoo more frequently.

“I can't help it,” Soonyoung says. “Anyway, you can eat your food and I'll help tidy up a little. I've got to blast in fifteen but I'm sure I can get some air in here in that time.”

Wonwoo, probably succumbing to his hunger, doesn't protest, preying upon the boxes of takeout like a man possessed. Which is a little ironic, because very soon, he will be.

Soonyoung first surveys the kitchen and opens the curtains, fiddling with the window before cracking it open to let the city air in. Wonwoo winces at the sudden influx of sunlight but doesn't audibly react. Soonyoung proceeds by gathering candy wrappers and balled-up tissues littering the counter and floor, all while humming softly. The way he clumsily fixes up the room has Jihoon feeling fond, and he's a little surprised when he realizes there's something like warmth coursing through his form.

By the time Soonyoung has made a tiny dent in the work the kitchen desperately needs, Wonwoo is clutching his stomach and looking at the takeout boxes forlornly. 

“What's wrong, did you eat too fast?” he asks, surveying the paper containers scraped clean of sauce. When Wonwoo nods miserably, Soonyoung coos and stacks the boxes, patting his arm sympathetically. “Sorry for not reminding you. I'll be back soon, don't worry! Don't die in the meantime.”

Wonwoo acknowledges him with a low groan and staggers to the bathroom.

-

It's the day.

Jihoon thinks if he had a heart to pump blood, it would be pulsing rapidly in excitement. After another day and a half of observing Soonyoung's admirable but fairly unsuccessful attempts to help, Jihoon's decided that an intervention is still very much necessary. So he's mentally prepped himself, thought about a few ways it could go wrong, and tucked those thoughts away in fear of one actually coming true.

Wonwoo yawns. He'd fallen asleep on the couch, where he definitely did not get a good rest. It would be easy to kick his soul out right now, while he’s still fumbling for his glasses and scratching at his head. Jihoon tenses, wonders how it’s already time to make a move, misses the chance. Wonwoo opens his eyes and blinks a few times, making as if to sit up.

Jihoon’s about to curse his slow reflexes when Wonwoo, true to his character, yawns again and rolls over, burying his face into the junction between the cushions of the couch. He stays silent for a few moments, then breaks into a slow and tumultuous snore.

He sighs. He’s really been getting way too lucky these days.

After waiting for a few more minutes just to make sure he’s really asleep, Jihoon resumes his mental preparation. He can totally do it now. There’s no one around, Wonwoo’s knocked out cold, and there are no classes today. He’s got this.

It’s not really a methodical process, possessing someone. There’s no instruction manual, and you only come off as idiotic if you try to search it up. Jihoon doesn’t communicate with other spirits, so he’d had to figure it out on his own. Thankfully, much of it comes down to instinct.

He tenses, then dives in towards Wonwoo’s body, aiming for the middle of his back. Being noncorporeal, he meets no resistance, then gets oddly sucked in, the swirling sensation both uncomfortable and thrilling. There’s an echo of a protest that fades quickly - probably Wonwoo’s soul - and before he knows it, he’s securely entering consciousness.

Then it all turns black.

  
  
  


Jihoon’s eyes fly open.

Wait. Not Jihoon’s eyes. Wonwoo’s eyes. Or are they his eyes, now?

Anyway, whoever owns the eyes - they fly open. And Jihoon can finally, finally see the world from the perspective of a living human.

Shaking off the fatigue weighing his body down, he stretches out not unlike a cat, first beginning with his toes, then working up. By the time he’s rolling his neck, he’s very much awake and ready to begin his work.

He sheds his clothes first thing, rummaging through drawers to find any straggling garments that aren’t thrown to the floor. He ends up in an odd combination of red track pants and a yellow graphic tee, but at least he’s found clean clothing. He’ll take a shower maybe later in the afternoon, after cleaning up the kitchen.

He stops to check the mirror in the hallway. He’d been perfectly aware of what Wonwoo looked like and everything that he would assume post-possession, but seeing it in person is drastically different. Now, _he_ ’s the tall, handsome young man with thin, wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. He’s got a head of soft dark hair and very functional joints (what a blessing!) and Jihoon feels both very jealous and very pleased.

He doesn’t really know what form his spirit would take on physically, but he’s sure it’s not this model-like body.

Anyhow. The first task of the day is to clean the kitchen. He lumbers over to the small, cramped kitchen (coordinating all four limbs at a time is a lot harder than he thought it would be) and opens the window, taking in a deep breath of fresh air. And immediately coughing. City air is smoky and kind of gross. Who would’ve thought?

There are three droopy houseplants lining the windowsill, to whom he offers a generous spritzing of water and a light pat for encouragement. The next few steps are simple: he puts away the remaining food on the countertops, washes the dishes in the sink, and wipes down the counters. Soonyoung had gotten most of the trash and expired food, so it’s not too demanding a task.

There is one last egg in the fridge, along with a handful of limp celery and a can of tomatoes. Jihoon makes a mental note to go grocery shopping after eating breakfast. He hadn’t expected hunger to be so strong an impulse, but now that late morning is creeping up on him, his stomach is insistent. He cracks the egg into the singular frying pan Wonwoo owns and tries his best to cook it fully. Thankfully, his hands seem to know what to do, so he doesn’t set the kitchen on fire.

He’s humming softly and pouring himself a glass of water when he hears an odd rattling, and then the door swinging open. His first thought is that a burglar had somehow gotten in, but when he turns around apprehensively, his shoulders fall in relief. It’s just Soonyoung.

“Oh,” Soonyoung says, sounding bewildered. “I didn’t think you’d be up… And I didn’t know you could cook…”

They stare at each other in silence. Oh, crap. He’d forgotten that Wonwoo wasn’t there to handle the social interaction. What does he say? Does he have to lower his voice?

“I just felt a lot better today,” he explains awkwardly, feeling hot.

Soonyoung eyes him suspiciously but lets it go. “That’s great! Are you sure you don’t need to rest some more?”

“No, I’m good,” he says a little too early. Timing his replies is hard. A little too fast and he seems overeager; a little too slow and he seems uncaring. It’s weird. “Er… what are you doing here?”

Soonyoung invites himself into the kitchen and sits down on a stool. “I was just planning on checking up on you, but lo and behold, you’re functioning again! It’s a miracle.”

“Yep… a miracle.” Jihoon tries his best not to grimace. His best clearly isn’t successful, because Soonyoung shoots him another odd look.

“What are your plans for today?”

Jihoon takes a moment to think at the risk of incurring more suspicion. “I was gonna get some groceries… and after that I think I’ll just stay home. To clean up, and stuff. And do work.”

“Work?” the other man cries, sounding appalled. “C’mon, Wonwoo, you’ve been shut in for so long! Don’t just keep working, that’s how you got into this state in the first place! You need to take it easy for awhile.”

Jihoon opens his mouth to protest weakly.

“No, don’t talk back, I know what you’re gonna say,” Soonyoung gabs on. “I prescribe to you a full week of doing peaceful relaxing things. Like taking walks outside, and doing those awful crosswords you like, and…” he tilts his head to think, then concludes brightly, “Spending quality time with me!”

He’s got to be joking.

Twelve o’clock noon finds Jihoon and Soonyoung walking through the nearest grocery store perusing the shelves for cereal.

Soonyoung had looped their arms together smoothly ten minutes ago when they’d first entered the store, and Jihoon hasn’t found the will to tug it away yet. He doesn’t know if Wonwoo typically lets Soonyoung manhandle him, but surely resisting Soonyoung’s affection would raise an alarm, right? So of course, he’ll just have to let Soonyoung have his way. That’s why. Yes.

“I think you should get Fruit Loops,” Soonyoung is saying determinedly. “They’re the superior cereal. Fruity, and loopy - the best!”

Jihoon’s hand is hovering over Honey Nut Cheerios. His resolve is wavering, but still… Fruit Loops, of all cereal brands?

“Please, Wonu?” Oh, God. When Soonyoung says his name - not his, but Wonwoo’s - his lips fix into a little pout, and it’s really freaking adorable. Maybe he knows, maybe he doesn’t; either way, those lips of his are a weapon.

“I mean…” He tries to think of a witty retort, but unfortunately he doesn’t have Wonwoo’s sense of humor. All he has is, “Are we buying cereal for you or for me? Jeez.”

“Aw, I guess you’re right,” Soonyoung concedes, sadly. 

(He gets a box of each, in the end.)

Soonyoung helps him fumble with the currency at the cash register, and by half past one, Jihoon has the fridge stocked up with all types of questionable food, including a tub of cotton candy ice cream (for when Soonyoung stays for a movie marathon, he’d claimed) and a very oversized jar of kimchi. Soonyoung had insisted on helping carry the bags until his face had gotten so red from exertion that Jihoon suggested they stop to take a breather before challenging the stairs.

And just when he’s convinced that Soonyoung will be leaving soon to get on with his day, the man announces that he’s starving and would absolutely love to get lunch with him. Before he has time to maybe suggest a rain check, Soonyoung’s tugging him out the apartment again and into the streets, asking what kind of cuisine he’d like today.

They get Thai food at a nearby place and it’s kind of awkward, Jihoon thinks, sitting across from Soonyoung in a booth all to themselves. It’s quite busy, so they have plenty of time to kill with Jihoon’s poor social skills, but fortunately Soonyoung chatters away without needing much interruption.

He’s familiar with the employees, chiming out hello to whichever waiter walks by, and telling Jihoon so many anecdotes about each one that he thinks he could probably tell their life stories without much inaccuracy. There’s Joshua, who likes to bro hug and has a talent for snagging big tips, and there’s Jun, who was fired from the next-door dimsum joint because he kept talking to the customers instead of working, and there’s also Hansol, who is quieter than the others but takes Soonyoung’s jokes admirably well. 

Soonyoung’s finally moved on to talking about Wonwoo, and suddenly he gets nervous, because he doesn’t know much about the man, even though it’s technically him. 

“I can’t believe you dropped off the radar for so long,” Soonyoung says. “Like, we all missed you, but you always said that you were busy… and then you stopped replying to our messages. It sucked, man!” He lowers his voice, sneaks glances at Joshua, Jun, and Hansol. “It sucked for all of us, but it sucked _so_ hard for me - I missed you, a lot, you know. I mean, one day we’re getting lunch together like every other day, just having a good time, and then we went to karaoke, and then… you know. But then the next day, you kept blowing me off, and I was like, okay, so he doesn’t feel… you know. And it was frustrating but whatever, it wasn’t your fault. But then _weeks_ passed and you never texted again, so I asked everyone else, and found out that you’d practically disappeared!” He takes a second to breathe and presses his hands to his burning cheeks. “God, it was just awful. I don’t even want to talk about it.”

Jihoon suppresses a snort at the pure irony.

“Sorry. Yeah. What I meant was just, I missed you. And I’m really glad you’re back. We all are. They don’t all show it as much as I do, but they missed you, too. I can’t believe Jun hasn’t jumped you yet.”

As amusing Soonyoung can be, Jihoon finds his little rant… touching? He can’t even imagine having a friend so dear that he could feel so strongly about retreating for a few weeks. Sure, it’s been awhile since he last had a body, but he doesn’t think he’s ever encountered anyone remotely like Soonyoung: bubbly, caring, and genuine. And yeah, Soonyoung isn’t even really his friend, he’s Wonwoo’s, but it feels so good (for lack of a better word) to experience what real kindness, real care is. It’s stupid, but Jihoon thinks he would want to be Soonyoung’s friend even as his own person.

“I don’t even know where to begin,” Jihoon finally says, honestly. “You’re really remarkable, Soonyoung. I hope you know that. Thank you, for everything.”

Before Soonyoung can respond, Joshua whisks in with their orders, the steaming plates drawing their attention. Joshua pats Soonyoung’s head and winks at Jihoon before leaving, calling out “Enjoy!”

Feeling slightly embarrassed, Jihoon ducks his head and focuses on eating while Soonyoung changes the topic to how much he adores tigers.

Soonyoung walks him home after lunch, informing him that he’ll be back in exactly four hours. For some reason, it feels like a date, what with the way Soonyoung hovers by the door and sends him a brilliant smile before departing. Jihoon shuffles into the apartment and collapses on the couch in stunned solitude, wondering how the hell Soonyoung had managed to make him feel comfortable in not just Wonwoo’s body, but also his life, after half a day. 

“That didn’t happen,” he says aloud.

Not at all pacified, he stands up and throws himself into cleaning the entire apartment for the next four hours. 

It’s mundane work. He tidies the books scattered around the floor and couches, sweeps, coughs dust out of his lungs for a hot minute, and briefly struggles with a mop-like tool but surrenders quickly. Wonwoo keeps a lot more than just those three windowsill plants, so he tends to them, murmuring to himself under his breath. It’s silly, yes, but it’s not like the plants care, so.

When he’s left just standing in the corner of the room, surveying his work, he registers the sweat lingering on his back and forehead and decides to take a shower. He hasn’t been looking forward to it, but it’s pretty essential at this point. It takes a few minutes to figure out how the shower turns on (too many knobs) and once he gets in he realizes he’d forgotten to get a change of clothes.

Oh well. That’s for ten-minutes-later-Jihoon-slash-Wonwoo to worry about.

Showering means thinking far too much and far too hard. Wonwoo’s shampoo smells of green apples; while the tart bubbles are worked into his hair, he thinks about, of course, the future. Though he’d made considerable progress in one day, he still has to get his body back into shape, catch up on some work even though he has no idea how he’ll manage that, and fix Wonwoo’s sleep schedule. Even now, he’s getting a little sleepy. Not just a little - he’s getting really sleepy. Closing his eyes to let the bubbles wash away makes it worse.

He trudges through the motions of showering, only slightly hesitating before washing the nether regions, and by the time he stumbles out he’s half-asleep. Wait. He’d forgotten the clothes, right. Sighing, he curls the towel around his lower half and makes for the bedroom. Exhaustion settles rapidly upon him, faster than he could expect. Before Jihoon knows it, Wonwoo’s body is giving out, lunging for the bed, and passing out.

Well. That sucked.

In retrospect, he should’ve anticipated it.

Even though he’s in possession now, it’s still Wonwoo’s body, after all. It must still be at its physical limits - no new mental control can change that in the span of one day. Jihoon should’ve remembered. He would’ve, except… Right. He’d been distracted all day, by Soonyoung.

He opens his eyes after about an hour and immediately lets out a shout.

Said distraction is hovering over him with his jaw slack in shock. He’s staring unsubtly at Wonwoo in a mixture of potent confusion and fear, and he blinks curiously, wondering why Soonyoung’s freaking out so much, when Soonyoung points a trembling finger at his abdomen.

“Y-you… You have abs?! Since when?!”

Jihoon groans internally. Of course he had to pass out _before_ retrieving the change of clothes.

“Isn’t this an invasion of privacy?” he mumbles, fumbling to sit up. He maneuvers himself to stand up without accidentally flashing Soonyoung (it might be funny, but it might also permanently traumatize him), and shoos the other man out. “Let me get changed, first.”

“Oh, right,” Soonyoung says, backstepping out of the room and closing the door firmly.

Once he’s resituated in a t-shirt and sweatpants, he joins Soonyoung on the sofa. _Itaewon Class_ is paused on the TV screen, the main cast lined up coolly to open the show. Jihoon notes the flush adorning Soonyoung’s ears and cheeks. It’s cute, he thinks automatically.

“I hope you haven’t watched this already,” Soonyoung prefaces, shyly. “I’ve been meaning to watch it forever. Everyone says it’s so good.”

_It is,_ Jihoon thinks. He’s spent enough nights watching humans watch this show; he knows most of what happens, and the main characters’ names. But Soonyoung doesn’t have to know that. “Nope, I’ve heard it’s amazing, though.”

“Yeah!” Soonyoung cheers. He reaches to unpause and taps the space bar playfully, grabbing two bottles of soju on the low coffee table, offering one to Jihoon. “Want one?”

“Sure,” he accepts, though wary of Wonwoo’s alcohol tolerance. He probably shouldn’t drink while Wonwoo’s still recovering, but at the same time, it’s so tempting. Not the alcohol itself, but what it offers: a night warm with liquid courage and humor, pulled close to Soonyoung’s side. He really wants that. He really, really wants that.

Still, duty calls, so he pretends to take a gulp, and Soonyoung doesn’t notice. He’s focusing on the screen, drawing his legs in and cradling his knees. Every so often, he looks to Jihoon and mimics the actors on-screen. Jihoon doesn’t look away from Soonyoung, keeping him in his peripheral vision even when he’s pretending to watch. 

When Soonyoung starts tearing up at a certain scene, Jihoon doesn’t hesitate before inching towards him and settling an arm around his shoulder comfortingly. “Don’t cry,” he says softly. “Why are you crying?”

“Life is so unfair,” Soonyoung cries, letting his head fall onto Jihoon’s shoulder. “He’s just supporting his son, why does he have to be punished?”

Jihoon doesn’t even pretend to be watching, at this point. His eyes follow one tiny tear escaping Soonyoung’s right eye, slipping down his round cheek at an agonizing pace. “Life is cruel,” he admits. “But look, he’s so proud. And it’s his choice. He’s happy to be with his son. Isn’t that all we can really ask for, in the end?”

“What, be with our family through thick and thin?” he asks, his words choked up.

“To love the people we love, to be with the people we love,” Jihoon answers gently. The tear journeying down Soonyoung’s cheek hesitates at his jaw. Jihoon, with his free arm, slowly leans in to wipe away the tear, his thumb swiping at the pearl and making contact with the skin of Soonyoung’s cheek in the process. It’s soft, like how it looks, and he longs to cup its swell for just a second more.

Soonyoung turns away from the screen to meet Jihoon’s heavy gaze. His lower eyelids glimmer with wetness, and his visage is rosy from both crying and embarrassment. As if it’s natural, his lower lip extends in a pout, its curve shiny with drink or spit, he doesn’t know. He’s beautiful.

“What are you saying?” he whispers.

On-screen, Saeroyi tips back a glass of soju. Jihoon, in favor of answering, takes a sip from his full bottle. He doesn’t know what to say.

“Wonwoo,” Soonyoung says, and it all but shatters the moment. The atmosphere, as velvety and tender as the surface of a rose petal, crumbles to normal. It’s nothing more than that.

“I’m not saying anything,” Jihoon says. “Pay attention to the drama, not me, fool.” 

Soonyoung wordlessly complies, but stares a second longer at him, his eyes searching. Jihoon stubbornly fixes his eyes on the screen. There’s nothing to be said.

Long after Soonyoung’s left for his own apartment, Jihoon takes another swig out of his bottle of soju. What was sweet an hour ago tastes bitter now.

-

Soonyoung doesn’t stop by the next morning, or in the afternoon.

He can’t say he didn’t expect it, but Jihoon was maybe hoping that he would pretend nothing had occurred. It’s silly: even if Soonyoung showed interest in him, he’d be falling for Wonwoo, not Jihoon, and at the end of the week he’ll have to return to the spirit realm anyway. It’s not worth it, in any way, and it’s certainly not what he had planned on doing just two days ago, but all the same, he hopes.

Today he’s going to do the laundry, as in cram every article of clothing he can find into a bag and lug it to the nearest laundromat. There are socks in mysterious places (a pair balled up on top of the fridge… really, Wonwoo?) and so he scours the apartment for hiding clothing.

Wonwoo’s phone unlocks with his thumbprint - thank God for technology - and he searches for a laundromat, trying to memorize the route. The journey is only a little awkward, which is a relief, and he realizes just after dropping off his bundle that he has nothing to do for the next forty minutes. Upon thinking hard for a few minutes, he then realizes that he doesn’t really know anywhere in the city aside from the stops he and Soonyoung had made yesterday. Sighing, he sits down in the laundromat, resigned to watching the clothes spin and playing Temple Run.

Eight minutes before the washing cycle finishes, a bell announces someone else’s entrance. He doesn’t look up from Temple Run, but when said person sits down right beside him and hacks into his fist quietly, he lets his player sprint off the wall and, dreading it with every fiber of his being, meets eyes with Jun.

“Hi,” Jihoon croaks.

“What’s up?” Jun asks cheerfully, patting him on the back. “Oh, man, you died!” Jihoon bristles in alarm before realizing Jun is peering down at Wonwoo’s phone, frowning at the score. “What happened? Oh, sorry, did I distract you?”

“No, it’s okay,” he says. “Don’t worry about it.” He slides the phone into his pocket.

Jun sits back up, stretching out his arms. “So, you’re back,” he says pointedly. “Any plans? Any reasons? Any… anything you want to talk about?”

Soonyoung’s description of Jun over Thai is proving to be extremely accurate. The man is like the embodiment of a bold question mark.

“Um, I just wanted to get on with my life, you know,” Jihoon attempts to explain. “Missed you guys, and stuff.”

“Aw, Wonwoo!” he squeals, throwing himself at Jihoon and squeezing him tight into a hug. He pulls back after a prolonged moment where Jihoon panics over whether or not he should hug him back. “Dude, you’re really skinny. I mean, you’ve always been skinny, but that was like mostly just being bony. But you’re skinny for real now. Are you alright? Are you eating enough? Should I smuggle you some Thai on my next shift? Oh, have you eaten lunch already? Do you wanna get lunch together?” He pauses to take a deep breath, then waits for his answer.

The barrage of questions overwhelms Jihoon to the point that he has no idea what to say. “I was gonna cook or something after this,” he settles on saying. “And there’s no need to smuggle anything. I’ll be better from now on, I promise.”

“Aw, you don’t want to have lunch with me? A new dimsum place opened up down two blocks while you were MIA. That’s okay, maybe another time,” Jun pouts.

Feeling a little bad, he hurries to amend his statement. “No, we can get lunch together if you want.”

He brightens immediately. “Really? Yay! I don’t have any laundry, by the way. I just came in because I saw you through the window.”

“Oh, really…”

“Yeah! Your head is very recognizable, you know. You’ve got the bone structure of a statue - just look at that nose,” gushes Jun, tilting his head to get a good look at Wonwoo’s face.

“Yeah, Won- my face is pretty bony,” Jihoon fumbles.

Thankfully, Jun seems too immersed in observation to notice. He just agrees, “Yep!”

“My load’s done, I’m gonna get it dried now,” he says, quickly extricating himself from what has become a somewhat awkward atmosphere. Jun waves him away with a smile, pulling out his phone and apparently pulling up his own Temple Run.

Lunch is a casual affair. Jun switches to Chinese to order, asking Wonwoo if he wants _shao mai_ or _cha shao bao_ , and handling the rest of the dishes. “No _xia jiao,_ right?” he chirps, “You still don’t eat seafood?”

“No,” Jihoon says reluctantly, because he kind of wants to try it, looking at the glossy photos in the menu. “You can order it if you want, though.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t do that to you,” Jun dismisses, shaking his head. 

While they’re waiting for their food, Jun scrolls through his Weibo and rattles off gossip and recent news - if news includes two adorable cats being put up for adoption and an interview with a farmer whose daughter had recently denounced agriculture. The constant chatter is peaceful, blending with the sounds of chopsticks on porcelain and orders being called out from the kitchen.

They eat quickly and it’s only when they’re picking at the last few sesame balls that Jun brings up his brief disappearance.

“Are you feeling better, now?”

Jihoon looks down at the fried ball clasped between his chopsticks. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Jun only looks away once Jihoon makes it clear that he doesn’t have any more to say. The weight of Jun’s open, inquisitive gaze lifts like a relief, but Jihoon only feels more guilty.

“Soonyoung was really distraught after you refused to leave your apartment, you know,” Jun says lowly. “He was so sure that he’d done something wrong…”

He doesn’t say it, but Jihoon hears distinctly _well, did he?_

It’s one of Jun’s questions that he can’t answer. Despite this, his voice is steady when he replies, “No. Soonyoung didn’t do anything wrong.”

Jun sits back, a satisfied look on his face, and he pops the last sesame ball in his mouth and chews vigorously. “Well, that’s that, then,” he announces, standing up and flagging over the waiter. “You’d better go get your laundry, Wonwoo.” He fishes out bills, covering the meal, and slips past Wonwoo with a twist of his hips, winking straight at Jihoon just as he shuts the glass door behind him.

Jihoon is left sitting alone in the booth feeling like he’s the one with overflowing questions now.

  
  


When he gets home, he drags the laundry bag into the bedroom and dumps all its contents on the bed. He sorts them first by type, then folds them neatly, all the while humming a ballad that had played during lunch. The fabric of Wonwoo’s clothes is all soft and worn in, the kind that perfectly suits the smell of laundry detergent. He has mostly simple cotton t-shirts, dark hoodies, and sturdy jeans, and Jihoon thinks that it’s all very much _Wonwoo._

Not that he knows Wonwoo, he corrects himself. It just feels right, in the context of his practical apartment, the potted plants, and the kinds of friends he has. The neighbors don’t seem too well-acquainted with him, so he probably isn’t the type of person to befriend by proximity. He doesn’t hoard material possessions, but he clearly likes gaming, reading, and collecting CDs. Wonwoo is a person who is dearly loved by the people he _does_ befriend, who is dedicated to whatever he does, who is respected by everyone he comes across.

He’s an editor, apparently, so he must write, too. And he knows his way around technology, guessing by his fingers’ muscle memory. Jihoon wonders if there’s anything Wonwoo _can’t_ do.

He stacks the shirts into a little tower and arranges them in their drawer carefully. His movements get more and more lethargic, as he moves from the shirts to the pants to the socks. He’s just rolled up the last pair of socks when a tide of fatigue washes over him, causing him to stumble to the bed and close his eyes in relief, thinking that a little nap couldn't hurt.

He wakes up feeling warm and content, the blankets pulled tight to his chin, the blinds over the window shut. The pillow under his head feels indescribably soft, like it's welcoming the back of his head.

It all seems very normal until he recalls that he'd passed out on top of the covers and definitely had not managed to settle in as securely as he is now.

For a moment he ponders the possibilities - maybe he'd rolled over in his sleep? - before very abruptly recognizing all the signs.

Who has keys to the apartment? Who would go to the effort of relocating his body to under the covers? Who would even take care to close the blinds before leaving?

He scans the room, squinting. His phone… where did he leave it, again?

Wait a minute. Wonwoo’s glasses, for his awful eyesight. They're folded neatly and placed on the nightstand. He slips them on, sits up with a groan, and discovers his phone on the dresser.

There are no messages from Soonyoung, but several notifications courtesy of Twitter. The text startles him at first - Soonyoung’s name is the first word, it makes him jump in surprise - but then he realizes it's just informing him Soonyoung has tweeted.

Then he _realizes._

Wonwoo has Soonyoung's tweet notifications on. How sweet of him; how revealing of him. Maybe it's a side-effect of Wonwoo’s body, being drawn to Soonyoung. Jihoon doesn't have any other explanation.

Soonyoung’s tweet captions a somewhat blurry selfie of him and a younger boy Jihoon doesn’t recognize. “My favorite junior,” he’d written, tagging another account whom he assumes is the other boy. Compelled by some mysterious urge, he follows the tag to Lee Chan’s profile page. He’s a dancer, apparently, and Wonwoo is already following him, so he must be familiar with him too. Swiping back to the tweet, he examines the picture more closely. They’re at a park, Soonyoung’s arm slung around Chan’s shoulder. The easygoing grin plastered on their faces stirs something deep in his stomach.

He turns off the phone. That’s enough Twitter for the day.

He migrates to the kitchen to try his hand at cooking dinner. Though he’s not the world’s best chef, he thinks he knows enough to pull together a meal. There’s a pressure cooker, unplugged, stored safely in one of the cabinets, and he’d bought a bag of rice yesterday, so that’s at least half of the meal done. All he has to do is stir-fry some vegetables and sample from Soonyoung’s giant kimchi jar.

With the rice washed and in the pressure cooker (it had taken him a few tries and a look at the instruction manual), he grabs an onion, bell peppers, and bean sprouts, taking his time to wash them thoroughly. Following his intuition--Wonwoo’s, really--leads him to a bowl full of the prepared vegetables and he’s pleasantly surprised by the fact that he hasn’t accidentally injured himself. Tossing the onions into a pan with a drizzle of oil, his venture into cooking looks promising.

Then there’s a knock at the door, and, startled, he throws in a little too much soy sauce.

“Come in,” he calls out, frantically trying to lower the heat. “Oh, and who is it?”

“Shouldn’t you be asking that before you invite them in?” Soonyoung says playfully, slipping off his shoes and walking straight to the kitchen. “Oh, are you cooking dinner?”

“Yep,” Jihoon says, but his voice wavers. “Do you know how to cook?”

Soonyoung giggles. “You know I’m terrible at it,” he says. “Don’t worry, I won’t get in your way. Um, I brought some wine, do you want some?”

Now, Jihoon considers himself someone with self-restraint. However, given that the pan is sizzling much too loudly to be considered normal and that he’s seriously doubting that there’s enough of everything for both of them to eat full bowls, his inner control is abandoning him. He really should not be drinking alcohol right now, and yet he finds himself nodding and gulping down the glass Soonyoung pours him. It’s not of superb quality but it does the job and, staring at the pan, he feels somewhat less responsible for the chaos.

“Soonyoung,” he says, a little desperately. “To be honest, I might need some help.”

“From me?” He sounds surprised.

Jihoon nods. “Haven’t cooked in awhile, you know,” he makes up on the spot. “I think I messed up the proportions, or something.”

“It looks fine to me,” he says, screwing up his face in thought. “Maybe there should be some meat. Shall I order something?”

“That would be great,” he agrees, immediately relieved. He takes another swig of wine.

Soonyoung smiles and turns off the stove for him, since his vegetables look quite… crisp, to put it nicely. “You want chicken?”

“Whatever you want,” Jihoon replies. “And I’m paying, for the record.”

“Got it, boss,” Soonyoung says cheerfully.

Twenty minutes later, they’re sitting on the sofa, _Haikyuu!!_ on the TV chattering away in the background. Hinata bounds up and down the court as they eat. Soonyoung sits criss-cross-applesauce beside Jihoon, who sits stiffly in his skin and dutifully spoons rice into Wonwoo’s awaiting mouth.

He tries very hard not to think about just last night, when he’d had that punishing desire to frame Soonyoung’s cheeks with his hands and kiss him firmly on the mouth.

Soonyoung eats chicken messily. His every action is eager - he reaches for the box like how a puppy would chase a stick, and upon securing the drumstick he takes a second to stare at it happily before devouring it with gusto. His eyes gleam in the very presence of fried chicken, which is infinitely amusing to Jihoon.

They watch six episodes of the second season - the best season, Jihoon thinks - before either one makes any effort to clean up. Soonyoung’s gaze lingers on the now-empty box of chicken, forlorn. Despite his own dismay, Jihoon chuckles and shifts to deposit the used tissues on the table into the box. He sighs as he stands up but smiles when he tells Soonyoung to pause for him, please. 

Soonyoung obliges and stacks the two bowls together, carrying them to the sink. As he turns on the faucet, Jihoon notices and interrupts, gently taking the bowls into his own hands. “Let me wash them,” he says, “You’re my guest, technically.”

“Guest,” Soonyoung repeats sourly. “I’ve known you since we were practically babies. I’m no more a guest than your houseplants.”

Have they really known each other for so long? It must be nice to have a friend stick with you from childhood on. It makes sense, then, the easy dynamic of their friendship. Still, there’s a sense of restraint whenever they accidentally touch each other: maybe it has to do with the fateful karaoke event Soonyoung had mentioned before. 

“Just let me wash the dishes,” he retorts weakly, struck by a pang of emptiness. Ironic, isn’t it, a spirit feeling empty inside? He doesn’t want to name it, but he knows it intimately, has been familiar with it for as long as he can remember. Most of the time he just occupies himself to bury the feeling away, but just as holes hate to be filled, the emptiness gapes on.

Soonyoung doesn’t argue back but sticks his tongue out. 

-

**Soonyoung:** u know what’s stupid!

**Soonyoung:** we have never (NEVER) gone to an aquarium tgt!!

**Soonyoung:** so thats abt to change!!!

**Soonyoung:** bc i suddenly mysteriously have 2 tix to the nearest aquarium!!!!

**Wonwoo:** you mean you got swindled into buying tickets after seeing an advertisement

**Soonyoung:** … ur faith in me is incredible

After that brief text exchange, Jihoon’s swept into a whirlwind of hurrying to get up and look presentable before Soonyoung arrives. He vaguely recalls spraying the plants with water and somewhat desperately glancing at hairstyling product before exercising self-restraint and looking away. His heart hammers in his chest as he ravages the just-folded laundry in search for something suitable to wear. It sounds an awful like a date (a strangely set-up one, but nonetheless a date) and yet, being _Jihoon,_ he’s reluctant to indulge his nervousness and actually recognize it as a date.

His internal turmoil is so inherently stupid that he can’t help but laugh at himself in the mirror, and that is the moment that Soonyoung chooses to knock on the door. Of course, he immediately descends back into his frenzy, splashing water on his face and scrubbing it dry with the towel, darting into the main room to answer the door.

“Hey,” he says, opening the door to reveal Soonyoung, smiling nervously with his fingers dipped into his pockets.

“Hey yourself,” says Soonyoung, ducking under Jihoon’s arm to let himself in. “Excited? You like fish, don’t you? When you’re not eating them, I mean.”

“Sure,” he replies, his instinct of _just agree to whatever Wonwoo’s friends say_ kicking in.

Soonyoung cheers. “I wanna see a tiger shark! And penguins!” Realizing Wonwoo’s just standing by the door and staring straight at him, he pauses. “Oh, are you ready to leave already?”

“Sure,” he says again, feeling terribly awkward. “Is there, like, a dress code, or something?”

He laughs uproariously like Jihoon had just cracked a hilarious joke and when he doesn’t join in, Soonyoung shrinks a little in his sneakers. “You’re not serious, are you?”

“Not at all,” Jihoon says, soberly.

Soonyoung stares at him strangely for an extra second, but drops it quickly. “Anyway, let’s go if you’re ready. The penguins are waiting!”

The aquarium is freezing.

At first, it had been a welcome reprieve from the relentless sunshine outdoors, but as he and Soonyoung delve into the more elusive exhibits, he curses the air conditioning. Soonyoung doesn’t seem to be affected - he’s like a human furnace - and trails through the aquarium with his nose pressed to the glass.

It almost takes his mind off the unbearable temperature: Soonyoung whispers hello to the cute fish and points them out by name, reading off the plaques to explain what species they are. The fish aren’t incredibly impressive, but Soonyoung is enraptured, his eyes following the tiny creatures as they swim in circles.

Everything, including Soonyoung, is washed in a deep blue color. Hues of turquoise flicker across his face as the light hits the water. The entire aquarium is quiet, the marine creatures puttering about in their tanks, looking lonely and forlorn, and the few other visitors breeze past the “boring” exhibits in search of the sea lions and stingrays.

Jihoon has the fortune of being accompanied by the only adult to ever be loud in an aquarium, however.

Soonyoung practically bounds from tank to tank, squealing when a large fish makes eye contact with him. He tugs at Jihoon’s arm with zeal and asks him which one is his favorite, which one would be his spirit fish, which one gets bullied by the other fish. It’s kind of absurd, in a way, but God, it’s entertaining.

Naturally, it takes them a long time to reach the more exciting areas. The penguins waddle about mostly in boredom, but Soonyoung gasps and coos whenever they move. Jihoon sits down on a bench as he waits for Soonyoung’s awe to die down. 

The whole process is so amusing that he forgets he’s cold until Soonyoung notices. They’re standing in front of a massive tank populated by a plentiful school of silvery fish, Soonyoung glowing with blue, his eyes and cheeks illuminated, and Jihoon is thinking about what a nice picture they must make from behind, their silhouettes against what could be the entire ocean, and Soonyoung nudges him.

“You’re shivering,” he says softly.

Jihoon glances down at his bare arm. “It appears that I am.”

A moment of hesitation, and Soonyoung shrugs off his denim jacket readily, tentatively wrapping it around his shoulders. Jihoon feels a spark dance up his spine.

“I can’t ta-”

“Don’t argue,” Soonyoung interrupts fiercely. “Just wear the damn jacket.”

Because Soonyoung is, after all, a human furnace, and because he is, after all, freezing, and because the most difficult thing to do in the world is, after all, saying no to Soonyoung, he wears the damn jacket.

As they circle through the aquarium and end up at the entrance, Jihoon thinks that he shouldn’t need it, because suddenly he feels overheated all over.

Post-aquarium, Soonyoung suggests getting boba and Jihoon, at this point used to Wonwoo’s friends spontaneously getting food, agrees easily.

The shop is at the corner of two busy streets; it’s a sharp contrast to the near-deserted aquarium. He’s still wearing Soonyoung’s jacket. It’s ripped fashionably on the back and sleeves, so it’s not even all that good at retaining heat, but Jihoon’s still thrumming with energy, the kind that leaves tingles in your fingertips and the back of your neck. It smells like Soonyoung’s cologne, the inexpensive kind that douches wear, except he shudders to think of Soonyoung trying to be a douche. He couldn’t.

“Is your go-to still jasmine?” Soonyoung’s making conversation as they cross the street, his body pressed close to Jihoon’s for the sake of not colliding with other pedestrians. “I bet it is. You’re boring like that.”

“Do you want to fight me?” he says instead of answering. He knows that Soonyoung will order for him and he’s one-hundred percent okay with that.

Soonyoung playfully pummels his abdomen. “Let’s go,” he huffs. “I know you’re a softie, Wonwoo, don’t try me.”

Every light impact with his torso feels like a direct hit to his heart, dramatic as the sentiment is. When he looks down (Wonwoo’s _that_ tall, he realizes), he can see Soonyoung squinting threateningly at him, lips pursed in mock resentment. He doesn’t think he could ever take Soonyoung seriously in a fight, seeing the gentle curve of his cheek and the glowing contentment in his eyes.

Having successfully arrived at the boba place, Soonyoung, as expected, waves Jihoon away to find a seat while he orders. He sits down by the window and watches Soonyoung greet the employee, smiling widely.

He faintly overhears “can you surprise me with something fun?” and he feels his face break into a smile of pleasant surprise. Soonyoung is still somewhat unpredictable, then, in the most subtle ways.

The other boy slides into the seat across from him. “My lactose intolerance is so going to kill me,” he says cheerfully.

“You sound very eager to test your body’s lactase,” Jihoon remarks.

Soonyoung shrugs. “I can handle myself… But only if I’m safe at home, locked in my bathroom for two hours.”

“What a big boy,” he jokes. Then he realizes it sounds kind of weird. “Sorry.”

Soonyoung finds this incredibly funny and giggles, covering his mouth with his hand. “You’re silly,” he chokes out mid-laughter.

“ _You’re_ silly,” he shoots back.

It’s all terribly awful, their senses of humor, but perhaps that’s why they click so much.

The same employee who’d taken their order drops off their drinks, and he takes an extra moment to smile at Soonyoung, tapping his cup with a wink. At that moment, Jihoon just knows that he’s left his phone number scribbled on the cup, and sure enough, it’s in startling black numbers against a light beige adorned with dark syrup.

Pulling his own drink close, he stabs into its plastic top with the straw. Some of the liquid inside spills out from the sheer force, and he weakly registers beads of condensation mixing with the tea, trickling over the side of his hand.

“I can’t believe him,” Soonyoung giggles.

Something festers in Jihoon’s rib cage.

“I mean, what kind of person gives brown sugar boba to a stranger who asks for a surprise?” He continues. “This shit is expensive!”

“Well, you were surprised, weren’t you,” Jihoon says sourly.

“Fair enough,” he admits. He shakes it twenty times, counting under his breath, and pops the straw in, taking a sip greedily. Swallowing, he sits back, sighing in satisfaction. “There’s a reason why this stuff is so expensive.”

“Let me try,” Jihoon says. He’s not even sure who’s talking now, him or Wonwoo’s mouth. Sure, he’s jealous. Why not? Soonyoung got the good drink. His own is the original with pudding. It’s like the employee didn’t even try. Probably because he wasn’t interested in flirting with Wonwoo, Jihoon thinks bitterly.

Soonyoung happily offers Jihoon his drink, taking the original in return. “Oh my gosh, there’s pudding in here! Ugh, you’re so lucky,” he pouts.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Look, pudding is like… a cloud in edible form. A cloud that’s been through the blender and frozen a bit. It’s so good. You can swish it around through your teeth and everything. Pudding is a blessing.”

Jihoon scoffs, more out of surprise than anything. “You’re saying you’d rather have milk tea with pudding than brown sugar boba? Are you crazy?”

“Yes,” Soonyoung says, eyes big. “Can we trade? Pretty please?”

“Sure,” Jihoon allows, out of self-interest. As in, he gets to drink the expensive, best type of boba _and_ gets to see Soonyoung swim in delight as he fishes for pudding with his straw.

On the way out, Jihoon tosses the empty cup, permanent marker numbers still visible, in the trash with an overpowering sense of complacency and, so taken, he smirks at the employee as he leaves. Soonyoung, unaware, follows suit, and together they walk the rest of the way home. Soonyoung sees him to his door, and when he strips for a shower and realizes he still has Soonyoung’s jacket, he feels very much fulfilled by the day’s events.

-

The next morning, Jihoon numbly registers the fact that Wonwoo’s plants seem to be more despondent than usual. Apparently, he’s supposed to take care of them beyond giving a healthy spritz of water each day. Who would’ve known?

In a stroke of brilliance, Jihoon decides to visit the nearest florist for advice. Google Maps guides him to a small shop with no reviews, which mildly concerns him, but what kind of plant nerd leaves an online review anyway? So, qualms dismissed, he enters a store almost completely wreathed in green. A crimson tarp, looking exhausted, extends over its front step, with vines latching on to its corners.

“Hello?” he calls out, brushing past a leafy shrub potted in a dusty turquoise urn. 

There’s a distant cough and some rustling movement before a voice responds. “Come in!”

Only slightly wary, he steps further into the carton of a building. Maybe it’s the general overgrowth within, but while neighboring stores all seem fairly spacious, this one is narrow and somewhat crooked.

“How can I help you?” A short, stout woman bustles out from behind a large unpruned bush, smiling toothily. 

“Hi, um, do plants need fertilizer or something like that to stay healthy?”

“Everything needs a little boost every once in a while,” she not-answers, eyes crinkling. “Have you been watering them sufficiently? What are the symptoms?”

Jihoon nudges at the cracked floor tiles with the rubber tips of his sneakers. “Some of the leaves are yellowing, and it just looks kind of weak now.”

“You know,” the old woman begins cryptically, “We all lose our way on the path, and all it takes is a little detour before we get right back on track. And it might take some of us longer than usual, but a helping hand is usually more than enough to find our way.”

He wedges his sneaker further into the tile cracks. “That’s great, but…”

“Young man,” she continues right over him, “The directions are right there for you. You’ve stood at this fork many times before. You’re almost there.”

“I-is this related to the plants or…?” Maybe he should have paid attention to the reviews, or lack thereof.

The woman shakes her head at him, disappointed. “Or maybe you’re not as close as I thought…” she mutters. “We’re closed now, please leave.” She ushers him out, flapping her birdlike hands as Jihoon backtracks. Just as he steps onto the pavement outdoors, she tells him shortly, “Good luck.” And as she shuffles back into the shop, he watches in amazement as the storefront shrinks into itself and promptly disappears with a quiet _shwoop_.

“I don’t think that was supposed to happen,” he says under his breath. Then again, he comes from the spirit realm, so who is he to question it?

He thinks he can hear Wonwoo’s plants chastise him as he turns around and heads straight back home, but at this point he doesn’t even care. Plant people are weird. He’s here to take care of Wonwoo and his life, not his dumb plants. He’ll be leaving soon, anyway.

That’s right. It’s his fourth day possessing Wonwoo, and he’ll have to extricate himself in three days before things get messy. It’s hard to believe that he’s already halfway through his stay. Wonwoo’s life seems like something he could get used to. Heck, he’s already adjusted to a lot of the strange things humans do. He’s not sure if he’s all that eager to leave at the end of the week.

And that’s dangerous. He’s not supposed to get attached; his job is to jump in, fix things, jump out. Not to feel comfortable going out with the human’s friends and look forward to doing even mundane things with them.

And he’s certainly not supposed to be attracted to any of said friends.

Oh well. When the week passes, he’ll leave as if nothing happened and keep watching over them from the spirit realm. Even if it does hurt him a little, no one on Earth will be hurt by him, and that’s what’s important. Wonwoo can go back to having his fun with Soonyoung. Maybe this week will even get them together, if what he suspects about Wonwoo is true.

The thought makes him feel queasy.

Around six in the evening, there’s a familiar knock at the door, and he doesn’t even bother opening the door, just calling out “Come in, Soonyoung.”

The man lets himself in and closes the door softly behind him. “Guess what we’re doing tonight?” he says brightly by way of greeting.

“Getting dinner, hopefully,” Jihoon says, thinking mournfully of his last failed attempt to cook dinner. 

“Ding ding ding! Yeah, we’re getting barbecue with the others.” At Jihoon’s confused look, he clarifies, “Our very own Jeonghan, Joshua, and Jun. You haven’t seen Jeonghan in awhile, huh?”

“No,” he says automatically, abiding by the golden rule again: always agree with what Soonyoung says.

Soonyoung plops down on the couch, stretching out to occupy all three cushions. “Ah, well, he’ll be glad to see you. Did you know? He dyed his hair again. Joshua made him.”

“Cool,” Jihoon says.

“It’s blond,” Soonyoung barrels on. “And kind of wavy now, since it’s getting long. Honestly, it’s kind of hot. But don’t tell them I said that. They’d all gloat. All of them, you know? Remember when you complimented Jun’s nose once and they all stuck their noses in your face?”

“Yeah,” Jihoon says, forcing a chuckle. He’s lost. He thinks he can understand Jun behaving like that, but Joshua had seemed more… relaxed. And he doesn’t even know Jeonghan.

“Anyway, you should probably change,” Soonyoung suggests. “We’re going to karaoke afterwards and also Jun insisted on you dressing the part of a, and I quote, ‘sexy writer from a fantasy world.’ It doesn’t make any sense, does it? I bet it’s from his kink list.”

Not put-off but somewhat confused, Jihoon backtracks, sticking his thumb in the direction of his bedroom as he explains “I’m gonna go change, then.”

Over dinner, Jeonghan, Joshua, and Jun sit across from Soonyoung and him. It’s frankly disorienting, the three visually blessed men smiling mischievously at him in a line. Fortunately, Soonyoung keeps his brain cells from evaporating as they chat over sizzling meat. His hand is suspiciously close to his thigh and it’s kind of driving him insane, but in a good way. A great way. It anchors him securely to the booth seat and every so often he thinks his hand might just inch onto his thigh for real. He’s left disappointed each time, but it sure is one way to keep his focus.

Jeonghan, being just across from him, keeps pouring him drinks. It seems rude to decline (and it’s a little hard, because Jeonghan looks straight into his eyes and his gaze is so sharp it moves his hand to the glass automatically), so he keeps tipping back the little glass. 

Joshua observes this pattern with amusement plain as day. The corners of his lips are tilted up in a charming way, and occasionally he giggles at Jeonghan’s insistence to keep his glass full. Jihoon doesn’t know what game they’re playing at, but he’s surely twisted deep into their web.

This only grows more apparent as they migrate from the restaurant to the karaoke place. It’s a familiar establishment to the other four, clearly, and as they book the room and slide boisterously into the long seat against the back wall, he feels an insidious sense of dread build up in the back of his throat.

Jun kicks off their little party with a Chinese ballad Jihoon is sure he’s been humming for the past hour. The rest of them sway in time and cheer whenever he hits a high note, Soonyoung going as far as acting like a starstruck fan and begging Jun for an autograph when he finishes. Jun, flattered as he is, hands the microphone to Soonyoung and rewards his efforts with the next song. Soonyoung whines but accepts it, letting Joshua pick the song.

He clearly has no idea how the song goes, but he makes up the tune as it plays, which is hilarious in itself. Joshua laughs softly, clinging to Jeonghan’s shoulder, satisfied with his song selection.

Jihoon keeps in his laughter in the beginning, but as the melody grows more and more dissonant and Soonyoung’s eyes more and more disoriented, he finds himself wheezing out little hiccups of laughs, his entire body leaning on the wall for support.

Soonyoung is obviously pleased with their reactions and sings louder, more chaotically. He teases the song into a roller coaster of unrelated pitches, his eyebrows following the melodic contour as he struggles to hit the outlandishly high notes he makes up. Their silly moods contrast the big screen, which displays somber scenes of empty beaches and rain-speckled windows. Soonyoung croons on, his voice burning through the room, leaving Jihoon gasping for breath.

When he ends the song with an unnecessarily long shout, Jihoon wipes his eyes and coughs out one last laugh before clapping enthusiastically. 

“That was certainly something,” he comments as Soonyoung returns to his seat, offering Jeonghan the microphone. 

“Thanks,” Soonyoung says brightly. “I tried hard. As you can know, I’m a musical genius.”

“Indeed,” Jihoon grins. 

Jeonghan’s song, chosen by Jun, is a soft, sweet love song. It suits his voice perfectly, and the mood lighting (courtesy of the big screen) settles the group down.

“I love this song,” sighs Soonyoung midway through the performance.

“I didn’t take you for a romantic,” Jihoon says, and it’s a testament to the magic of Jeonghan’s voice distracting him, or maybe to his weakened mental resolve, that it takes him an extra second to realize what he’s doing.

Wonwoo shouldn’t be taking him for anything. Wonwoo _knows_ Soonyoung, has known him for years. It worries him: if he’s only noticed now, how many times has he slipped up in the past?

Perhaps he’s paranoid, but the look Soonyoung shoots him seems tentative, possibly afraid. “I’m very romantic,” he says, then. It sounds half-heartedly joking, but it’s just tremulous enough to feel real. “In fact,” he continues, clearing his throat awkwardly, “I like romance, and I would like a romance of my own.”

In the background, sounding watery and far away, Jeonghan sings of blossoming love, the type that’s meant to be. Jihoon wonders if it’s supposed to be like this, the entire world hazy except for Soonyoung, who looks half terrified and half overtaken by bravery, his eyes reflecting pink flecks of light on his dark irises.

Jihoon swallows. His throat is dry. He’s nervous about singing; he hopes Jeonghan doesn’t pass him the microphone. He croaks, “Got anyone in mind?”

“Yes,” Soonyoung says assertively, eyes wavering. “In fact,” he adds, pauses, then attempts again, “In fact, I-”

“It’s Wonwoo’s turn,” Jeonghan calls out, sticking the cursed microphone right between Soonyoung and him. He’s surprised to see that the microphone nearly occupies all of the space between them - how had they gotten so close?

Soonyoung shrinks into himself and refuses to meet their eyes. Jihoon stands up, out of duty, and takes the microphone, brain running at double its normal speed, and getting half its normal capacity done.

He fortunately recognizes the song: it’s an old pop song, the drums heavy enough to make him feel less insecure about using Wonwoo’s voice for singing. The verses fly by uneventfully, he prays internally to have it end quickly, and somehow he’s singing the chorus but suddenly his voice fails him. Wonwoo’s voice is not quite adjusted to the higher register of the chorus, and Jihoon begs it to stretch a little higher, just a little higher, and as it refuses to budge again and again he feels his head getting hot.

“Can we cut it,” he says, interrupting the instrumental. Joshua moves to remove the song, but Soonyoung stands up forcefully. 

“Um!” he shouts. “It sounds good! You should, you should, keep going! Please!”

The outburst leaves him befuddled. Joshua looks to him for a decision. He hesitates. “It’s not that good though,” he says weakly.

“I think it’s perfect.” Soonyoung dons his usual passionate demeanor, repeating, “I think it’s perfect. You’re doing great, Wonwoo, it sounds so good.”

Unconvinced, he says, “I don’t really…”

Soonyoung stamps up to stand beside him. “Give me the second microphone,” he demands. Jun hands it to him, looking very interested in this change of events. Soonyoung bursts into the second chorus with full volume, belting out every note, whether or not he hits it, with confidence.

Reluctant but left with few other options, Jihoon lifts his microphone to his lips and resumes. Soonyoung’s voice doesn’t entirely smother his own. It embraces his voice, lifting it higher and louder, and even though they’re terribly off-pitch it sounds fine. Good, even. Like it was meant to sound like this. Meant to be.

They’re in the climax of the last chorus when Soonyoung stops singing, panting. “Nevermind,” he hisses, catching his breath. “Cut it, it’s too damn hard to sing. I think I permanently damaged my lungs.”

“Don’t,” Jihoon says loudly. “I think it’s perfect,” he says, echoing Soonyoung’s words. He faces Soonyoung, nudging at his arm until he lifts the microphone to his own lips. 

Then, even louder than Jihoon’s own command, he shouts, “Cut it! It’s too damn hard to sing! This is a song from hell!”

In response, he bellows, “Don’t cut it!”

Soonyoung stammers out the beginning of what is definitely a belligerent “cut it!” but surrenders to the laughter bubbling up his chest. He folds over and lands on his knees, laughing into his microphone, making the squeaky laughs reverberate. Jihoon suppresses his own laughter under the guise of annoyance before giving in as well, joining Soonyoung on the floor and giggling.

The three others watch them with thinly veiled delight. 

As the song comes to a close, Jihoon stands up and offers a hand to Soonyoung, who takes it gratefully and allows himself to be pulled up. Soonyoung’s eyes are lit with mirth, a thin sheen of sweat highlighting the plane of his cheekbones and jaw, his cheeks faintly flushed from the exertion. With the score screen booing them unsympathetically in the background, Jihoon holds tight onto Soonyoung’s hand, its clamminess only making his smile widen. He feels somewhat stupid like this, frozen in place, unable to do anything but stare and stare at the boy in front of him, who’s so resplendent that he thinks he might be smoldering to ashes as they stand.

Soonyoung leans forward, and Jihoon responds in turn, compelled by the universes spinning dizzily in Soonyoung’s eyes. He might just kiss him, kiss those succulent blush-pink lips of his. He wants to, God, he wants to. He heaves for breath as they stand there, just about ready to throw it all into one kiss, until it flashes in his mind. _Wonwoo._

He’s beginning to hate those two syllables.

Pulling himself away sharply just as Soonyoung steps forward, he mutters, “I need to go,” and brushes past Soonyoung’s crumpled expression, the universes in his eyes slowing and melting into stars lining his waterline.

Navigating the karaoke place is difficult, to put it simply.

Jihoon wants to collapse and just wallow in his pain, but he’s sure sobbing in the hallway isn’t all that acceptable, so he keeps walking blindly, taking turns left and right without care. Every step feels wrong, but wherever he goes, it’s better than staying still. Except he thinks he’s passed by the same lamp fixture about five times, and it’s quite possible that he’s just walking in circles, orbiting aimlessly around the karaoke room he is dead set on avoiding.

Even though he really hates his name, he feels sorry for Wonwoo. So much for helping him out. All he’s done is clean his apartment and go on dates with Soonyoung, in retrospect. It’s not his choice, though, to go on dates with Soonyoung, and not his choice to kiss Soonyoung, and not his choice to fall in love with him.

Fall… in love.

Whatever. Whether he’s in love or not, it doesn’t matter. He can’t just pretend to be Wonwoo forever. He’s got to return to spirit form, and at most he can just hang around and watch Soonyoung and Wonwoo inevitably get together. It can’t be all that bad, he tries to persuade himself, but just the thought of letting go of Soonyoung, tossing away even just the chance to be with him- it’s repulsive.

He stops in his tracks. God, all he wants is to live as _Jihoon,_ and go on dates with Soonyoung as _Jihoon._ He doesn’t want to be Wonwoo anymore. He doesn’t want to be a spirit anymore. He wants to be Jihoon, and have Soonyoung say his name, his actual name.

He looks up. He’s at a true intersection, now, and he has no idea where he actually is. He could turn left or right, go backward, or…

He steps forward, and the first step feels right, and the second more so. Every step feels more right than the last, and as he whisks past room numbers he can’t make out, he’s certain he’s broken out of the ceaseless circles. As he surges forward, he feels his heart soar inexplicably, and the corners of his lips lift involuntarily, and all of sudden he collides with something warm and weakly rooted: they fall to the ground, and Jihoon realizes in growing horror that he’s landed on top of Soonyoung, of all people, and the other boy is weakly groaning under his weight.

He scrambles off of Soonyoung and apologizes profusely. “I’m so sorry,” he says, and then again, more meaningfully.

After a moment of painful silence, during which he rolls over, sits up, and stares pointedly away from Jihoon, Soonyoung says, “Don’t apologize.”

“I…” He trails off, not knowing what else to say. “I’m sorry.”

“I said, don’t apologize,” Soonyoung spits. He stands up and inhales harshly, stepping toward Jihoon. “Just stop. Stop apologizing, stop leading me on, stop all of it.” He finally meets his eyes. “Stop, please.”

Feeling deeply remorseful, both for Soonyoung and himself, he starts to apologize again, then stops himself. Soonyoung’s eyes blaze as if daring him to continue.

When he doesn’t, Soonyoung rants on. “I know I shouldn’t force myself on you or anything, but I really thought we were getting somewhere, you know? You were acting weird all week, starting that day I made you promise to hang out with me… Just, you’re dumb as shit, Wonwoo. I mean, so am I, but when I noticed how differently you were acting, I thought… Anyway. You can stop fooling around. I know now, okay?”

Acting weird? Different?

So he’d noticed.

And despite being told multiple times not to, he can’t prevent the apologies from spilling from his lips. “I’m so sorry, Soonyoung, I really am. I didn’t think you would figure it out… I thought I was doing a good job of hiding it. You’re right. I do like you. I like you a lot. It sounds ridiculous, I know. I’m sorry that you had to find out before I could tell you myself, but the circumstances are, well, awful. The worst.”

Slightly bewildered, Soonyoung murmurs, “I mean, I guess they could be better…?”

Jihoon plows on. “Well, it’ll be okay for you from now on because I’ll be leaving tonight. By tomorrow you and Wonwoo can live happily ever after, and you should just forget about me. I know you had feelings for him before I came around and I know what you showed me was for Wonwoo, but I couldn’t help falling. And worst of all, I don’t think I even regret it all that much. I wish there was a way for me to tell you myself, maybe even court you if you weren’t opposed to it, but-”

“What are you saying?” Soonyoung finally interrupts, looking at him like he’s crazy.

“My real name, my real name is Lee Jihoon. And I swear I only possessed Wonwoo to help him get back on his feet, not for any creepy reasons. I didn’t mean to fall in love with you. I just… did.”

“What do you mean, your real name? Is this some kind of sick rejection? What’s wrong with you? You don’t have to pretend. I’ll be hurt, but I’m not that fucking fragile.”

Wait.

So he didn’t find out, after all. 

“What did you mean by ‘acting weird?’”

Soonyoung makes a face. “Well, w-well,” he stammers. “I thought you liked me back, okay? What are _you_ talking about?”

“Um… it was all a joke. Ha-ha. Got you.”

“I’m not that stupid.” He rolls his eyes impatiently, waiting for an explanation.

Jihoon sighs. “I screwed up.” Rubbing his eyes in frustration, he wills himself to calm down. “Basically, I’m not Wonwoo. Sorry. But Wonwoo’ll be back tomorrow and you can just pretend none of this ever happened. Wonwoo won’t remember anything. Actually, I guess you might not, either, since I’ve never really followed up on these things. All you have to know is that everything will go back to normal and you don’t have to worry about it.

“But… I won’t. I won’t forget about any of this, and I won’t forget about you. I don’t think I ever will. Not in a million years, not in a million lifetimes. I love you… so please, leave.”

Soonyoung looks at him like he’s never seen him before. “So this past week… it was all you?”

He nods, somewhat abashed.

Before he can apologize and urge Soonyoung to leave again, the other boy swiftly shuts him up with an earnest kiss. He lets out a gasp of surprise, and Soonyoung hesitates before kissing him again with added fervor.

Unwilling to pull away, Jihoon kisses him back tentatively, hand moving to cradle the back of his head. It’s something he’s pined for since nearly his first meeting with Soonyoung, and God, was the wait worth it. Soonyoung kisses him like he knows him, and as memories of all their not-dates flash by, he thinks this is something he can believe in.

When Soonyoung steps back to search his expression, all he can get out is a pitifully low “Why?”

“Whatever your name is, whatever your face looks like… I think I just want _you._ ”

It’s all he says. And though the atmosphere is still brittle, like it could shatter with the lightest brush of fingertips, they smile shyly at each other.

  
  


Later that night, while he’s tidying up Wonwoo’s apartment for the last time, the doorbell rings shrilly.

He opens the door not knowing what to expect, and even so he’s surprised by the visitor. It’s Jun.

“Hey, Jihoon. What’s up?”

“I’m just cleaning up,” he answers offhandedly. Then, after a beat, “Did you just call me Jihoon?”

“Yup!” He pops the ‘p,’ his lanky figure leaning against the doorframe. “So can I come in?”

Jihoon blinks at him in clear confusion. “Sure, I guess.” They move to the sofa and look at the black TV screen, watching each other in the reflection.

“So are you going to ask how I know?”

“Um, did you eavesdrop or something?”

Jun smiles cryptically, as if he’d anticipated that. “Nope. I mean, believe what you want, but the signs were pretty obvious if you knew what to look for.”

“Huh…?”

His grin broadens. “I don’t have much else to say, Jihoon, but I hope you find what you’re looking for. Well, I guess you already found it. But I hope you realize what you found.”

“I haven’t lost anything, though,” Jihoon says, befuddled.

“Really?” Jun stands and makes for the door, still smiling. “Well, good luck. I’ll see you soon.”

“But I’m leaving tonight…”

The words fall on empty ears: Jun’s already slipped out the door and when Jihoon looks left and right down the hallway, he’s nowhere to be seen.

When the moon has risen and the city bustle dwindles down to a low hum, Jihoon goes to bed.

He takes an extra moment to linger, running his fingers over the walls and tables, flicking off the lights and wondering how, even in darkness, it is so lovely. Sure, the furniture isn’t anything special, and there’s no consistent color palette, but when he thinks of becoming a spirit again and being cursed to watch from afar, he wants to treasure each and every sensation.

Breathing air, taking slow, deliberate steps, trailing through an apartment that feels almost like his. It’s terribly bittersweet. The worn sofa, with its arms bent from being sat on carelessly, is where he and Soonyoung had watched TV and eaten chicken. Not exactly a handsome vision, perhaps, but one he finds precious. The foot of the bed, where he’d collapsed from sleep deprivation, and where Soonyoung had found him, half-naked. The smell of laundry and green apple.

He tucks himself into bed and takes one last look at Wonwoo’s phone. Soonyoung’s sent him one of those digital touch messages that disappear. It’s just a pulsing heart, but it sends a bolt of heat to his own heart. God, to be with Soonyoung, to kiss him to sleep and kiss him to awakening, to hold his hand and have his hand held. A fantasy nearly realized, but not quite.

If he could walk as Jihoon one day, he would look for Soonyoung, he promises himself. And with this silent vow, he drifts off to sleep and into a lightless void.

Opening his eyes, he dimly registers the fact that there had been _two_ instances of suction when there should’ve only been one. He should’ve been sucked out of Wonwoo’s body and left as a formless spirit, but there had been another sucking sensation. He rubs his eyes and looks around, gaping as he realizes that he 1) still has eyes and 2) also has an entire body, which happens to be unclothed.

“Oh, are you awake already? That’s good. Hello? Can you hear me?”

Someone waves their hand in his face, and another head pops into his field of view. “Sir?” Two bright eyes, upside down, studying his face. 

He squints at the face, then at his naked body, and then at a green apron which had evidently slid off him.

“Oh, that apron’s mine, sorry. I didn’t think you’d want to be, you know, naked here. But I don’t have any other clothes with me today.”

His vision finally comes into focus, and he lifts his gaze from the cheap apron to the person’s face. It’s upside down, still, and his hair is flopping in his face as he speaks, but the moment he takes in the sight, he utters, dumbfounded, “Soonyoung?”

“That’s me!” The man offers him a hand. “You okay? What happened? I just came over to restock the chips and found you here. Funny,” he says, scratching the back of his neck, “I didn’t even see you come in.”

“I don’t know how I got here,” he says honestly.

“That’s okay. What were you doing? What’s your name?”

“I’m Jihoon,” he answers, and that feels right. He is Jihoon. His body is Jihoon’s. He’s Lee Jihoon. He works as a graphic designer for a well-known magazine. He’s twenty-four years old, he has family in Busan, he’s never dated anyone. 

Soonyoung is visibly taken aback. “Jihoon…? I mean, it’s a common name,” he says to himself. “And he shouldn’t be here…”

He stands up, clutching the green apron for decency’s sake. “Nice to meet you,” he says, sticking out his hand. “I would love to get to know you better.”

Soonyoung still looks uncertain but shakes his hand. “I’m sure I’ll see you around…”

“Let’s get lunch together,” Jihoon suggests. “After I get dressed and everything. How do you feel about Thai food?”

Maybe it’s because Jun had put the idea in his head, but standing in the corner of a random convenience store, naked save for a scrap of green fabric in front of the boy he loves, awoken from some strange bout of unconsciousness, he doesn’t feel lost. If anything, it feels like he’s found something: maybe a body of his own, maybe a reason to live as Jihoon. Whatever it is, he’s glad to have found it, and as Soonyoung nods in cautious agreement, he doesn’t think he’ll ever let it out of his grasp again.

**Author's Note:**

> hey!!!! i hope it was interesting/fun to read :))) this has been one of my wips for a really long time but i only recently whipped it out of the dusty google drive lol.. i just love the idea of jihoon pining kdjfhdj  
> i know the concept is kind of weird but i tried to make it as soft+romcom-y as possible (instead of creepy n gross..) i feel like my writing is just getting worse n worse haha sorry if it's painful to read :< i only proofread it briefly bc i want to hurry and post this!!
> 
> pls leave kudos/comments if u liked it!! it really makes my day <3 also if u have any questions (confusing parts/what happens after?) lmk! i will be beyond happy to answer hehe  
> (fun fact i wanted to imply that j unit were dating but it didn't rly happen lol)  
> thanks for reading and stream left n right!!! (i was streaming while writing the last bit lolol,, i wish and kidult give me life)


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